Obvious
by The Communist Unicorn
Summary: If there was one thing Dean was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure of, it was that he was not in love with Cas because a) Dean didn't fall in love, and b) Dean wasn't gay ... Okay, he and Cas were fucking, yes, but that didn't change anything. (Destiel, human!AU, co-written with mcabby80)


So I recently binged "Downton Abbey". Of course Thomas is my favorite character, and as I scoured the internet for fanfic in which my poor baby gets the happy ending he deserves, I came across a Thomas/Jimmy AU that I thought with a little tweaking would work just as well with Dean and Cas. So I wrote to the author, and they gave me permission to publish my adaptation. If you're also a DA fan and you'd like to read the original, go to mcabby80's profile and look for a story called "Obvious".

Happy reading, and please leave a review if you like it =)

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If there was one thing Dean was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure of, it was that he was not in love with Castiel Novak. Because a) Dean didn't fall in love. Ever. And b) Dean wasn't gay.

Okay, they were fucking, yes, but that didn't change anything. Sex was sex. Who didn't like good sex? And with Cas the sex was always good. Better than good. Dean would challenge the straightest guy in the world to not get off from Cas's nimble fingers and talented tongue. So yeah, there was no need to have a fucking identity crisis over a few (dozen) orgasms.

And okay, so Dean had stopped dating, but he wasn't being _faithful_ to Cas or whatever. He just couldn't see the point of spending hard earned money on a fancy restaurant that didn't even have burgers on the menu and enduring hours of boring conversation, all for the dubious reward of mediocre sex, barely more exciting than a night with his own hand. Why expend all that effort when he could just show up at Cas's door with a pizza and a six pack? They would watch crap TV, bitch about their jobs and their screwed up families like ordinary friends because that's what they _were_, and when they got bored, Cas would climb into Dean's lap and kiss him like there was no tomorrow, or get down on his knees and unceremoniously open Dean's pants.

And yes, Dean did reciprocate thank you very much. He wasn't a jerk. To his surprise it wasn't as disgusting as he'd expected, the feeling of Cas's cock in his mouth, another man's come coating his tongue. After a few more times he cautiously admitted to himself that he kind of liked the salty, slightly bitter taste. It reminded him of an ocean breeze. And the way Cas moaned and writhed and had to fight not to thrust down Dean's inexperienced throat made Dean feel fucking powerful.

Turned out he liked a number of things he never thought he would. The first time he let Cas inside him, he thought he would explode. He'd never felt such unbearably intense pleasure before. Any initial pain was completely forgotten as Cas slowly and methodically fucked him into blissful oblivion. That was when he realized there was no going back. He was helplessly addicted to sex with Cas, and no one else would ever make him feel this good.

Sometimes, like when he was riding Cas into the sagging old couch, both of them panting and dripping sweat but not ready for it to be over, strong hands on Dean's hips guiding him up and down on Cas's cock at just the right pace to make it last, he thought that there must be a better word for this than sex. Sex couldn't mean both this and the perfunctory, forgettable fucks he'd had with women. The two were too different. This perfect, effortless joining of bodies, this glorious feeling of owning another person and being owned in return. He'd never felt anything like it before in his life.

But Dean wasn't stupid. He knew that sex — even amazing, mind blowing, earth moving sex — wasn't the same as love, and even if he sometimes (usually) stayed the whole night, that didn't mean they were a couple. It was just the February cold that made him reluctant to leave the comfort of Cas's bed when the fucking was over for the night. He could have fallen asleep just as easily without the other man's arms around him, and anyway they only cuddled for warmth. Cas's building was old and it was freezing in the winter.

"I should just get your name tattooed on my ass," Dean joked once while they were laying in a post-coital puppy pile, their skin still sticky with sweat and come but both of them too sleepy and comfortable to worry about cleaning up just yet. "No one else has ever used it that good. Hell, no one else has ever used it period."

Cas didn't say anything, but he looked at Dean with such an intoxicating combination of soft, warm affection and dark, possessive want that Dean couldn't not kiss him.

He'd known for a while that Cas was in love with him. It was there in every tender touch, every hungry kiss, every time his name was moaned or whispered or screamed like "Dean" was the only word Cas knew. But Cas had never said it, and Dean was grateful for that. He couldn't lie, not about that, and he didn't think he could stand to see the hurt in Cas's eyes when he refused to say it back. He wondered sometimes if Cas knew how obvious it was, but as long as Cas seemed content with their little arrangement, Dean wasn't going to bring it up and risk rocking the boat.

And if he had a picture of Cas as the background on his phone (one where he'd taken Cas by surprise so he was frowning at the camera in that adorably confused way of his instead of putting on some fake smile), and if he looked at it whenever he was having a bad day and needed something to cheer him up, and if he thought of Cas at least a hundred times a day, wondered where he was and what he was doing …

Well, there had to be a perfectly logical explanation that did not involve the words gay or love, and soon, any day now, Dean would figure out what it was.


End file.
